


Size

by Kariachi



Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Settling, Gen, Love my princess damnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 15:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kariachi/pseuds/Kariachi
Summary: Unless small size was needed he would be something big and obvious. A ziboson like Kraphal, or a sand ripper, something of that like. The consensus was that he was making up for all the mass she lacked and that this was perfectly acceptable from a daemon...
Kudos: 10





	Size

Looma had never felt bad about her small size in comparison to others of her species and age. Yes, even as a young teen she only reached up to her father’s waist, at birth she’d fit snuggly in one of his massive hands, but she’d never _felt_ that way.

People said things about small children, that they were quiet and reserved and leaned towards knowledge and pursuits of the mind. A small child could, supposedly, be counted on to study and innovate, and from the day of her birth her parents had planned for such. Her nursery had been filled with books and learning implements, toys for someone who would delve into science and math and history and would need safe ways to study them fully.

They’d at least been right on the history portion.

She could still remember her mother and her daemon Kraphal sitting in the sun outside the palace with her and Rouvel, smiling and laughing as they groaned at the idea of going in for a math lesson and instead insisted on hearing another of their warstories. Her father as she, aged seven, bested an older, larger girl in training. Isead circling overhead as they darted between courtiers and warriors alike, joining in every conversation they could and never seeming to realize they weren’t grown. Looma had always been small in size, but at heart she had always been grand and boisterous.

Rouvel had always reflected this. Unless small size was needed he would be something big and obvious. A ziboson like Kraphal, or a sand ripper, something of that like. Nobody was surprised. The consensus was that he was making up for all the mass she lacked and that this was perfectly acceptable from a daemon, especially that of the princess- of course, it wasn’t as if anything could be wrong with the heir, certainly not ma’am, never. Half the betting pool, and of course there was a betting pool on what the warlord’s daughter would settle as, was certain Rouvel would stay that way. He would be a ziboson, or a ripper, or maybe even something larger. The other half was swearing up down and sideways that the closeness and similarities between Looma and her father meant he would be a bird of prey like Isead.

He was a tomilin.

They were fourteen, sitting together on their bed for the first time since her mother and Kraphal’s death, the first time since then Rouvel had been small enough to _fit_ on the bed, staring each other down. She’d known as soon as she woke up that he had settled but she hadn’t expected the weight against her stomach to be _this_. Fur and feathers of bright, shining gold, broad wings and a lithe body. He tilted his head to the side and she mirrored him.

“So?”

“You’re small.” He was. There were smaller of course, Isead could probably have fit in his mouth, but after fourteen years of the largest things he could think of- Rouvel straightened himself, head raised regally and wings clamped tight to his back as he stared down his long, narrow face.

“So?” Looma looked him over again; he looked so _frail_ when the night before he’d been massive and solid.

“I thought you’d be bigger.” He scoffed.

“I,” he paused, long, bushy tail flicking over his paws, “am perfect.”

She couldn’t argue. When she reached out to stroke him his fur and feathers were the softest thing she’d ever felt, the weight of his head leaning into her hand a comfort even as she questioned why he’d bothered with species bigger than her father when he was just going to end up laying under her chair for the rest of their lives. Or maybe that _was_ why. Still, even if she didn’t understand, and worried about how he’d take to battle now he seemed so brittle, the form felt, right. Looma smiled.

“Father is going to lose his mind.” Rouvel grinned back, all sharp, white teeth, and hopped off the bed.

“He will throw the biggest feast anyone has seen in the past fourteen years,” he said, looking expectantly at her, “and I plan on stuffing myself silly at it so get some clothes on and let’s move.”

“I don’t think you could get very much in you now, Rou,” she laughed, leaning over the edge of the bed to get at her dresser, “there’s not enough space.” Settling back on his haunches, Rouvel curled his lips in what Looma immediately recognized as the latest, permanent equivalent of his ‘I’m the greatest’ smirk.

“Oh I’ll find room. Now you may need to carry me back to bed tonight, but I will find room.”

“You don’t even need to eat!” Offhandedly Looma wondered if she should replace her leathers with something that matched her daemon, like some other warriors did, but dismissed the idea out of hand. Fuck it; people’d know who they were. Rouvel rolled his eyes as she started getting dressed, lying down on the floor.

“One of us has to enjoy the spoils of rank,” he said, “and since you’re determined to eat field rations and the finest steak with the same level of neutrality I am _forced_ to be your taste buds.”

“Forced?” She stood up and stretched, Rouvel bouncing back to his feet and falling into perfect step beside her as she went for the door. He still had the same look on his face.

“Oh yes, you’re horrible to me.” Looma smirked down at him as they stepped into the hall.

“I’ll remember you said that when you can’t reach the plates.” His wings twitched open.

“See? Cruel.”


End file.
